The Shock that Flesh is Heir to
by Tracy Diane Miller
Summary: You can't change fate. Or, can you? Sequel to "When We Have Shuffled Off This Mortal Coil."


The Shock That Flesh Is Heir To  
  
Summary: You can't change fate. Or can you? That is what Gary is about to discover. This very short story is a continuation of "When We Have Shuffled Off This Mortal Coil." The title was inspired from Hamlet's soliloquy.  
  
Disclaimer: Early Edition characters belong to whoever created them. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made. Some of the dialogue that appears in this story is not my own, but belongs to the writer of the Early Edition episode "Fate."  
  
Author: Tracy Diane Miller  
  
E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com  
  
  
  
The Shock That Flesh Is Heir To  
  
"The choice is yours." The man's words whispered against the wind like a covenant sealed with a higher authority. Like a challenge to him to change fate.  
  
His fate.  
  
But this older man before him had to be an apparition, a sadistic ghost dangling the promise of life. How could he change what already happened? He had died in that carpet store. Hadn't he? Fantasy and reality were blurring before his eyes. What was happening to him?  
  
Was this old man talking about time travel? Changing the present by manipulating the past? He remembered his sojourn to 1871 Chicago. He thought that he could defy history by stopping the Chicago fire. Perhaps the purpose of that quest wasn't to prevent the history inscribed in books, the Great Fire. Maybe it had been to change the history of a young boy who wouldn't warrant a footnote in historical annals, but whose blood would course through a proud line of descendants.  
  
Jesse Mayfield.  
  
Hadn't he died in Mrs. O'Leary's barn then? Hadn't his lungs filled under the heavy smoke in that barn and the flames licked his skin? He remembered the flames circling him. He remembered...  
  
Waking up in his own time period, on Trotter's construction on Dearborn Avenue very much alive.  
  
So many unanswered questions.  
  
Gary glanced at the mourners again. His family and friends. "Don't cry, Mom. Please, Mom. Don't cry."  
  
"You can change all of this, you know. The choice is yours." The old man repeated once more.  
  
"But how? Tell me how?" Gary pleaded.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
They seemed so young and in love as they walked down the street holding hands. Watching them he remembered how it felt to be a teenager on the threshold of love. He remembered how completely Genie had evaded his heart. He remembered how they viewed the world through a heart's eye. That's kind of how one views the world when in love. Full of hope and promise. How special and innocent that kind of love is. Societal shortcomings are irrelevant. Everyone, everything else seemed inconsequential.  
  
Another time. Another place. The lingering scent of her shampoo still preserved as a memory in his mind and heart even after all these years and despite the roads that life had taken him. Her hair sparkling in the Hickory sun and later shimmering playfully against the light of the moon's smile. This couple that he witnessed could have been him and Genie. Except as the young couple proceeded towards the abandoned carpet store poised to enter the building to escape the cold, they were unaware that their actions would cost them their lives. They wouldn't experience the prom. Or high school graduation. Their youth, their love, would be extinguished by the cruel hand of Fate.  
  
They were destined to die.  
  
"Hey!" He called out to them. His tone was frantic and desperate. But they couldn't hear him.  
  
"Hey!" He shouted again. He needed to warn them not to go into that carpet store. They were oblivious to the impending danger.  
  
He started to walk away. He squeezed his eyes shut. Yet, the horrific image plagued his brain. He saw the teenagers' obituaries in The Paper; their names and smiling faces stared back at him from his subconscious. They would die in that carpet store. He needed to run away. If he went into that store after them, he knew that he would be trading his life for theirs. He wasn't a martyr; he even questioned whether he was a hero. But neither his body nor his conscience would allow him to leave knowing what awaited the teenagers. He hurried across the street and entered the abandoned carpet store.  
  
What happened next happened very quickly. Fate was so impatient sometimes. The collapse. The young girl's scream. "Go on, get out of here." He commanded the teenagers.  
  
He remembered feeling the intense pain as the collapsed debris buried him. God, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. And then...  
  
Nothing.  
  
Was he dead? The Paper said that he was supposed to die.  
  
But life surged through him. He felt it. His fingers flickered underneath the rubble. Somehow he was able to pull himself out of the mountains of destruction that covered him.  
  
Then he saw an intense light. And a man illuminated by the glare.  
  
"Lousy day to die. Sure you want to do this?" The old man inquired.  
  
"You brought me here."  
  
"In my experience, we all get pretty much where we want to go. Having a problem with that paper, aren't you?"  
  
"I can't do this anymore."  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
"Because someone died." :  
  
"And you decided that made it your turn. I've been there."  
  
"No. No you haven't. No one's been there."  
  
"If you wanna go on, you have to accept the responsibility. And the loss." " Why? I didn't ask for it. I don't want it. Do you know what it's like to wake up every morning and know what's going to happen? I don't want to know. I don't want to care. I just, I just want to wake up one morning and not know. Please, I just. just. I just. I just want to wake up." :  
  
"The choice is yours. Always has been. Time to accept that."  
  
The choice was his. He had heard those words before. And this old man, there was something so...so familiar about him. He had seen the man before. Somewhere. At a funeral. Yes, at a funeral. But whose funeral? He felt an inexplicable pang in his chest, intense sorrow, as he thought of his family and friends. Mom crying. He saw Mom crying.  
  
Why couldn't he remember?  
  
The old man told him to "count the living, not the dead. Count the living."  
  
Soon the old man was gone, but his words had instilled Gary with the will to fight for his life as he called for the rescue workers. He was pulled out from the sub-basement of that carpet store.  
  
A vigilant stream of water rained down on The Paper as Gary's obituary was changed into an advertisement.  
  
He hadn't died that day. He had changed Fate. He had made his choice.  
  
Maybe that was what The Paper was trying to tell him all along.  
  
The End. 


End file.
